


Kiss You There

by skivvysupreme



Category: Glee
Genre: Game of Thrones AU, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvysupreme/pseuds/skivvysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wildling!Kurt knows a thing or two about keeping warm. Blaine Snow knows nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss You There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whatstheproblembaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatstheproblembaby/gifts).



> Inspired by one of the best things that ever happened on Game of Thrones

Blaine had never put much thought into what it would be like to be someone’s prisoner, but he never imagined that if and when the time came, he would actually enjoy it.

The Wildlings, well… they live up to their name, that much is certain. Their nights are loud and boisterous, like one big begrudging family when they circle around campfires and eat and sing and drink and taunt each other. These nights are more like the dinners Blaine had with his half-brother, Cooper, back at Winterfell, than the dinners Blaine endured at Castle Dalton with his oath-brothers in the Night’s Watch. But Blaine sticks out like a sore thumb in his heavy black furs, the Wildlings’ gray and white coats blending like camouflage in the snow. He is still an outsider, if a benign one they’ve grown accustomed to.

Though the Wildlings—or, the Free Folk, as they call themselves—don’t trust him, call him “the baby crow” and eye him with suspicion wherever he walks, they’ve stopped pulling their weapons on him whenever he gets too close or strays too far. Well, Kurt still pulls his bow on him at random from time to time, or his dagger if Blaine’s close enough and he’s in that sort of mood, but Kurt also calls him “the _pretty_ crow” when he’s feeling charitable.

They say Kurt’s “kissed by fire” because his dark brown hair has a beautiful, reddish sheen to it, along with the few natural blond highlights in the front of his high, tousled locks. Personally, Blaine thinks he’s kissed by fire because he somehow sends heat pooling in Blaine’s belly whenever he touches him. And Kurt touches Blaine a lot.

“All right, crow?” Kurt asks, elbowing Blaine hard in his side as he walks past, laughing at the way Blaine’s trudging miserably through the snow. The rest of the Wildlings are a bit farther ahead of them, setting up camp, but Kurt’s been charged with watching their slow-moving captive. “You southerners never could handle the _real_ cold.”

Blaine grunts, massaging his side; he will never understand how an elbow can feel so sharp through both of their thick fur coats, because Kurt keeps doing that and it hasn’t gotten less painful. “I’m not a southerner. I grew up in Winterfell. _Winter_ -fell. I know cold.”

“Is Winterfell south of the Wall?” Kurt spins to face him, walking backwards in the thick, heavy snow as easily as he might through the neatly-paved courtyard at Castle Dalton. He has his storm-blue eyes half-lidded, smirking down at Blaine while he waits for him to answer.

“Yes, it is.”

“Then you’re a southerner to me.” Kurt kicks a leg out, swinging his foot behind Blaine’s knee, and when Blaine trips and hits the ground, Kurt snorts and leans over him. “You know, for someone with the last name Snow, you sure are terrible at walking in it.”

Blaine doesn’t want to smile at him, but he can’t really help it. Normally, when someone brings up his name, it’s in mockery and heavy with insult. He is Blaine Snow, of House Anderson, the bastard of Winterfell, who will never be worth what his older brother is worth as heir to their estate and the next warden of the North. Kurt’s comment on his name is the first time Blaine has heard anyone say it so casually. It’s the first time someone has looked at him, at his name denoting a lower status, and expected _more._

There goes that fire again. If anything’s keeping Blaine warm in this north-of-the-Wall cold, it might just be Kurt.

“Hello? Have you hit your head, pretty crow? Are your little birdy bones really so fragile?” Kurt’s bent over, squinting as he looks Blaine up and down. Blaine doesn’t know what sort of look he has on his face, but whatever this wide-eyed look is, Kurt suddenly reaches out a gray-gloved hand, pressing it delicately against Blaine’s dark curls. “Did I hurt you?”

Blaine grabs Kurt’s arm and pulls him down into the snow. He lands on Blaine’s chest with a heavy _“ooof!”_ and Blaine begins to laugh, holding Kurt tightly around his waist to stop him from escaping.

“Never trust a crow!” Kurt proclaims, wriggling around on top of him until it becomes clear that Blaine’s grip is too strong. He’s breathless from the effort, panting against the collar of Blaine’s black cloak as he tries to scoot up into a more comfortable position. One of his legs settles between Blaine’s, and Blaine’s mouth drops open, lips parting in a surprised gasp.

Blaine remembers the day he took his oath with the Night’s Watch. He remembers the twist of amusement he felt at the promise _I shall take no wife, father no children_ , remembers fighting down a smile at the words as they left his mouth, knowing full well how easy that part of his oath would be to keep. He knows what the oath implied—total celibacy—so he knows he should not treat the wording as a loophole. But… here, lying in the freezing snow with Kurt, who likes to run a finger along his jaw whenever he calls him pretty, who openly desires men because the Wildlings don’t care what you do with your love as long as you know how to fight… well, that particular oath seems less and less important by the second.

Kurt nips at Blaine’s chin and says, “I can keep that sensitive southern body of yours warm, you know.”

“Is that so?”

He looks towards the rest of the Wildlings, busy pitching tents and building fires, and says, “There’s a place close by. Follow me.”

*****

The cave is an oasis. Steam rises hot from the little spring sitting off to the side, nestled in a ring of rocks. Everything is lit in soft, orange light, pockets of fire lining the edges of the walls and bringing out the flames everyone says are in Kurt’s hair. Blaine leaves the cold behind, walking deeper into the cave; he keeps his eyes on Kurt, who stands in the center and has already removed his belt, boots, and gray fur coat.

“Ever been with a man?” Kurt asks, watching Blaine as he peels off his undershirt. He’s only wearing his thick gray pants now, his hip cocked to the side, and he’s running his fingertips along his own arms, relishing the feeling of his own warm skin after so long covered in layers and frost.

Blaine doesn’t mind the cold, usually, but he takes a moment to resent it for forcing Kurt to keep all this beautiful, freckle-spattered skin under wraps all the time. His mouth goes dry as Kurt bends and pushes his pants down, finally stepping out of them and kicking them aside so that every inch of him is exposed. He is long-limbed and… _elegant_ , Blaine thinks, more graceful and fluid than Blaine had ever thought a Wildling would be.

“I took an oath,” Blaine answers, struggling to keep his eyes off Kurt where he’s half-hard between his thighs.

“Down at your silly crows’ nest, sure, but before that? Some coy stable boy at Winterfell, maybe? Or… have you only been with women?”

Suddenly shy, Blaine looks down at his feet. “No, Kurt. I—I kissed a girl, once, when my brother snuck us some wine, but I haven’t been with anyone.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, eyebrows raised. “Well, do you not know where to put it?”

Blaine snaps his head up, more indignant than he needs to be, and pouts, “I know where to put it!”

But Kurt’s laughing, only teasing him, as he always is. “Maybe taking it is more your style, anyway.” He takes Blaine’s chin in his hand, leans forward, and waits.

Kurt is the one completely nude, but even as Blaine stands there in all his clothes, he has never felt more naked.

“Gorgeous, sweet baby crow,” Kurt whispers, his breath ghosting across Blaine’s lips. “Are you going to break your oath with me?”

Blaine sighs, relief coursing through his body as he reaches for Kurt, putting his gloved hands on either side of Kurt’s head and finally, _finally_ pressing their lips together. And Kurt is a gentle kisser, sliding his hands down Blaine’s chest and wrapping his arms around Blaine’s back, cradling him much more sweetly than Blaine expected. Blaine pulls off his gloves, tossing them in the pile with Kurt’s gray furs. Then he holds Kurt’s face again, taking care to not let Kurt hit his head against the rocks as Blaine presses them against the pillar at Kurt’s back.

Kurt makes a pleased, humming noise. “Aren’t you hot under all that? Don't you think it's time to get rid of those layers?”

“Not yet,” Blaine answers, moving his lips to Kurt’s neck. He’s rewarded with a soft gasp in his ear. He keeps moving lower, shutting his eyes and letting the sound of Kurt’s breathy voice above him guide him to the sensitive spots on Kurt’s body. He opens his eyes again when he reaches the patch of hair below Kurt’s navel. Kurt is hard now, long and flushed and swollen where he hangs under Blaine’s chin. And Blaine wants nothing more than to taste him. So, he keeps moving.

“What are you doing, crow— _oh, Blaine_ —“

Blaine has the tip of Kurt’s cock between his lips, sucking lightly and massaging Kurt with his tongue. From the noises Kurt’s making, Blaine guesses this was the right thing to do, so he takes more of Kurt into his mouth and tries not to graze him with his teeth. He feels himself getting hard while Kurt thickens on his tongue; all these layers really are too much at this point, but Blaine doesn’t want to stop. He likes the weight and salty taste of Kurt in his mouth, loves the sighs and moans he’s managing to pull out of him. Blaine can’t take all of him, as he discovers when he gets too ambitious and gags a little, but he certainly wants to. He pulls off to breathe, steadying himself by holding onto Kurt’s hips and resting his forehead on Kurt’s thigh.

“Shit,” Kurt says. His voice is tight and his chest keeps rising and falling rapidly with his breath. “Is this what southern boys do?”

Blaine smiles, gazing up at him, and mouths at the tip of Kurt’s cock again. “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I just wanted to kiss you there.”

Affection fills every crevice of Kurt’s expression, his cheeks dimpling as he pets through Blaine’s curls. “More?”

Blaine sinks down again, sucking harder than before, and Kurt moans louder, his hips starting to churn back and forth into Blaine’s mouth. Blaine gags again, his eyes watering when Kurt pushes in too far, and Kurt pets his cheek and gasps, “Okay, okay, I—fuck, move, move your—yeah, _yeah_ —”

He holds his hips as still as he can while Blaine bobs up and down around him, then suddenly comes in Blaine’s mouth, groaning low and spurting hot down his throat.

Blaine keeps sucking him through it, swallowing him down, not pulling off for a second, and lets Kurt fill his mouth until he’s finished.

When Kurt finally slumps against the rock pillar, his body gleaming with sweat in the firelight, Blaine rests on his knees, palming the hard bulge in his pants. He doesn’t know how just sucking Kurt and getting him off has set his body so on edge, but he feels like he could come from just that.

Kissed by fire, indeed.

“Is it over?” he asks. It feels childish to ask, but if that’s all it takes, and if Kurt has already finished…

Kurt laughs, but not unkindly, his low giggle turning into gentle cooing as he pulls Blaine up and off his knees. He unclasps Blaine’s cloak, shakes his head, and kisses him, long and dirty as he tastes himself in Blaine’s mouth.

“You know nothing, Blaine Snow.”


End file.
